


Stumbling Blocks

by CSKazaam



Series: FFVII [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Best Friends, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 01:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CSKazaam/pseuds/CSKazaam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A newly promoted Third, Zack has his entire future ahead of him, and his dreams are looking bright. But one horrific night shatters those dreams, destroying his confidence. It's left to Angeal, a First he barely knows, to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InyrilJace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InyrilJace/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Brothers Under the Sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/198379) by [CSKazaam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CSKazaam/pseuds/CSKazaam). 



> Well, this was certainly a long, long time in coming. I set my very first kiriban on Deviant Art to the special FF7-related number of 7,777, and it was caught by InyrilJace! Hooray! :D But I had a second place winner too, and the inspiration for their request hit me hard at the time, so I finished that story up first (Brothers Under the Sun). I was supposed to get right to this one right afterward, so I set to work brainstorming some ideas... and then I don't know what happened, but it sure wasn't this fic. XD Several other fics happened in the meantime, though...
> 
> Anyway, I finally returned to this story and discovered that I was, at last, ready to write it. Curiously enough, Brothers Under the Sun helped to lay the groundwork for it, because this story references an event referenced in Brothers Under the Sun. So, you can sort of consider that story a prequel, though it really isn't because it takes place after this. But I would recommend reading it first, though it isn't necessary - I've constructed an alternate description/overview of the event here. I chose not to copy and paste the scene, and I decided not to actually flesh it out further than it was, since I think its original description really provided a lot of its impact. Hopefully, my alternate portrayal here will be effective in its own way!
> 
> InyrilJace asked for a story in the canon FF7 universe, with Zack, Kunsel, and Angeal, involving the first time Zack meets Angeal. I confess it isn't exactly the _very first time_ Zack encounters him, because he's seen Angeal around... but it is their first real interaction. So, many thanks to InyrilJace for providing the prompt, and to LuckyLadybug who helped with brainstorming some of the ideas! As it happened, Ladybug wanted to see a different particular scene in Brothers Under the Sun fleshed out, which happened to fit perfectly into this fic. So I guess this is actually a two-for-one gift! Oh, and also partly inspired by "broken dreams" in 30_Hugs on LJ.
> 
> Incidentally, I hadn't planned to write nearly as much for Kunsel as I did. But Kunsel voted me down, and ended up stealing most of the entire first part. It's my first time writing him, so I hope he came out all right! He was fun - I might have to do this again. ;)
> 
> Kudos if you actually read all these notes, now, on with the show! Hope you enjoy. :)

Nervous, mouth dry and heart in his throat, SOLDIER Cadet Zack Fair pushed his way through the crowd to the front. He fought to keep himself steady, closed his violet eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He steeled himself for what he would see. Then he opened his eyes.

The list was directly before him, tacked to the wall. Resolute, fearing what he might find, he began at the bottom and scanned upward, both too fast and not fast enough. He held his breath, the one thing he looked for yet to appear. Dread loomed as he neared the top.

And then, all of a sudden, he saw it:

_Fair, Zackary – Pass, 3rd of 44_

Pure. Elation.

" _Wahoo!_ I did it! I passed!" Zack jumped into the air, pumping a fist. "Hey, Kunsel, _I did it_!" Heart surging in triumph, he was about to rip the list from the wall to wave around in celebration, thought better of it at the last second for those who were still looking for their own scores, and bounced back through the throng. "I did it! Kunsel! I passed! I made Third!" He let out another jubilant yell and finally met up with his friend at the fringes of the crowd, throwing an arm around his neck. "I passed, can ya believe it? _Third Class!_ "

Kunsel laughed and pounded him on the back. "I knew you could do it! Third Class couldn't hide from you for long. They won't know what hit 'em!"

Zack was grinning, ear to ear. "You better believe it! And ya better watch out – I'll catch up to you b'fore ya know it!"

"I don't know about that. You may be good, but you're never going to match what's up here!" He tapped the side of his head.

Zack chuckled. "You're such a nerd, Kuns." With that, he attempted to get the other in a headlock, only for Kunsel to wriggle out of it and turn the tables on him. He ground his fist into Zack's ebony spikes. Zack squawked, unable to get free. "No fair! No using Third Class powers!"

"Who says it's not fair, Fair? You're a Third Class now!"

"As of _a minute_ ago! I still hafta get my Mako shots!"

"Not my problem! Guess you should have thought of that before picking fights with a SOLDIER!"

Complaining and laughing, Zack struggled to pull Kunsel off of him, as they continued back down the hallway. So absorbed were they in their impromptu wrestling, that neither noticed the figure in front of them before they smacked right into it.

It was like hitting a brick wall. Both bounced back with a startled _'Oof.'_ Zack, still grinning, was about to apologize when he noticed just who they had run into – the brick wall was garbed in a very distinctive shade of SOLDIER First charcoal. Both snapped to attention.

"Sir!"

"At ease, SOLDIER, Cadet." The deep voice rumbled at them, amused. He regarded them as they only slightly relaxed, took in the Third Class blues the one wore, and the training uniform worn by the other. Then his gaze drifted upward to the growing commotion in the middle of the hallway, where the other cadets were discovering their own scores. His eyes returned to the two in front of him.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

He seemed to be looking at Zack. The boy frowned and swallowed, his throat dry. Was this about running into him? "Sir …?"

"Your status, Cadet. Did you pass?"

Zack's eyes lit up, and he found it hard to keep from smiling. "Yes, sir!"

"And? Your score? That is, if you cared to share it," he said this last rather dryly, as if he expected the cadet to share it whether he cared to or not.

Zack could no longer stifle the grin, as he met the SOLDIER's eyes. "Third from the top, sir! Just a couple points from Bail and O'Malley, an' that was just luck 'cause I tripped on the obstacle course, an' then forgot to put my name on my exam 'fore I turned it in." Abruptly, his grin dropped. "Uh, sir," he finished, locking his eyes back forward and wondering if he'd said too much.

A flicker of surprise went through the SOLDIER's eyes. He examined the cadet a little further. Third from the top was still impressive, but even more so was the fact that the boy had said it all, not with the air of someone who was bragging, but of someone who was simply rattling off the facts. He hummed to himself.

"Well done," he said in approval. Then his face grew stern. "But keep your celebration _out_ of the hallways." The two stiffened, afraid they were going to be reprimanded further. Instead, he turned away. But then he paused, and added, "And _try_ not to overdo it … _anywhere else_." Again, an undercurrent of amusement ran through his words, and, with that, he left.

Zack and Kunsel remained frozen for a moment. Then, as one, they relaxed, heaving a shared sigh of relief. Zack glanced at his friend.

"Did he just give us permission to …?"

"He sure did."

"Haha, awesome!" Zack high-fived his friend. "We're goin' all out tonight!" Then his gaze drifted back toward the retreating SOLDIER and he sobered, his expression changing to one of awe.

"… Was that …?"

"SOLDIER First Class Angeal Hewley," Kunsel supplied, also watching the man in reverence. "One of the General's right hand men. They say he's almost as good as the General himself – placing him in First Class is like a compliment to all the other Firsts. He's almost as far above them as they are above the Seconds."

"Wow … And didja see that, he gave me a compliment!" Zack grinned once more. "A compliment from First Class Hewley himself … Man, couldn't get any better'n that, unless the General himself showed up!" He glanced down the hallway from which the SOLDIER had come, hoping that the General would do just that.

He didn't, unfortunately.

"Yeah, well, we're just lucky he doesn't have us mopping the floors for running into him like that."

"Or doing five hundred push-ups," Zack added.

"Or running a thousand laps."

"In the rain."

"During a lightning storm."

"From a pack o' guard hounds!"

Kunsel chuckled. "Or worse yet – _gardening_." He dropped his voice dramatically, putting as much horror as he possibly could into the last word.

Zack blinked. "Gardening?"

Kunsel nodded, sagely. "Yeah. They say that Angeal Hewley loves to garden … but can you imagine what kind of plants he must grow? I hear that even SOLDIER First Genesis Rhapsodos, the General's _other_ right hand man, is afraid of Hewley's plants."

"Really?" Zack's eyes widened. "Like what? Razor weed? Or flower prongs? We got those in Gongaga."

Another nod. "Worse. Mandrake or capparwire, or even …" Here, he glanced about, then lowered his voice, leaned in close, and stage whispered, " _Malboros._ "

" _Malboros!_ " Zack suddenly had visions of an unlucky cadet forced to garden as punishment, only to be snared by the vines of one of the dreaded man-eating plants, while the boots of other unlucky cadets stuck out of its toothy maw. Then he saw the smile twitching at the corners of Kunsel's mouth. He shoved him away, grinning. "Jeez, you're such a con."

"Had you going, though, didn't I?" Kunsel smirked.

"Whatever." Zack shrugged it off, chuckling. He glanced once more in the direction Angeal Hewley had disappeared, then started down the hallway again, back to his room, a bounce in his step. _Haha, Third Class!_ He couldn't resist another jump and a fist pump; Kunsel watched his antics in amusement. Now that he was a newly minted Third, Zack fully intended to take Kunsel up on his offer to move into his much more private dorm room and out of the cadet barracks. Kunsel followed to help him pack, not that he had very many belongings to pack in the first place.

After a moment, Zack's thoughts returned to their encounter. "You gotta admit, though, SOLDIER Hewley sure is _awesome_. Didja see the size of the sword he carried? It must take _ten men_ just to pick it up! But man, if nothin' else, he sure looks like he could wield that thing." He was certainly built enough, Zack thought. He dwarfed everyone else in terms of sheer mass, and it was all muscle. Linking his hands behind his head, he remarked, "I wanna be just like him someday."

Kunsel raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted to be just like Sephiroth?"

"Well, yeah, but … come on, the General's so far above ever'body else, sometimes I think _no one_ could reach 'im. At least Angeal Hewley's a little more realistic. ... You know, to _start_ with."

Kunsel smirked. "Sure, if you grow another foot and add on about a hundred pounds of muscle."

"Hey, quit crushin' my dreams!" He gave Kunsel a light shove, adopting a wounded air.

"I'm not crushing your dreams, I thought you wanted to be realistic!"

"What gave ya _that_ idea? They're dreams, stupid, they're not supposed t'be realistic!"

"What? Zack!" Kunsel shook his head at the other's contradictions, chuckling. "I give up. … Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I saw Hewley and the General fight, one-on-one?"

"What?" Zack whirled toward his friend, eyes widening. "No! What happened? Why didn't ya tell me b'fore? C'mon, Kunsel, spill it! What'd you see?"

"Actually, I didn't. Well, I was _there_ , but they were moving too fast for me to see anything."

Zack stared at him, then hooded his eyes, unimpressed. "Ha ha, very funny. You almost had me goin' _that_ time." He rolled his eyes and continued walking, smacking Kunsel on the back of the head.

Kunsel laughed, then fought for a straight face. "I'm serious!" He held up his hands. "Look, Zack, I'm totally serious this time. Really."

"Uh-huh."

"I am! They're First Class, man, they can move just that fast!"

"Right. And bein' a Third, you still couldn't see 'em?" Reaching his room, he flipped out his key, unlocked the door and pulled it open, revealing the rows of bunks he shared with eight other cadets.

"Nope." Kunsel shook his head. "It's all the Mako. It does something to you, makes you more than human."

"I dunno, Kuns. I think your helmet was just in the way."

"My helmet wasn't-!"

"Fine, can ya see _this_?" At that, Zack snatched a pillow from the nearest bunk and, grinning, whipped it straight at Kunsel's head.

Kunsel yelled in surprise. "Why you-!"

"That's for leadin' me on!" Gripping the pillow tightly, he proceeded to whale on his friend. Kunsel grabbed a pillow from a neighboring bunk and began to fight back.

"You're just gonna lose again, Fair!" Laughing, the two pummeled each other until feathers flew.

"And hey, don't forget – party tonight!"

* * *

It turned out Zack _didn't_ get to party that night, as he'd hoped. After he'd finished transferring his belongings, Kunsel informed him that the Third Class promotion banquet was tomorrow night, and he'd have to wear his dress uniform. Upon hearing that, Zack replied with, "What dress uniform?" whereupon Kunsel proceeded to drag him out to find and purchase one.

"How are you in SOLDIER, _and you don't know this_?"

"Hey, gimmie a break, Kuns, I've only been in SOLDIER for half a day! I can't be expected to know this!"

" _Yes you can._ "

"This is what I have you for."

"What about your Third Class uniform? Do you have that?"

"Um …"

"Oh, for Gaia's sake."

So, that night, after acquiring the dress uniform and several sets of the standard Third Class blues (one of which Zack had promptly thrown on), he sat on his new bed, mourning the state of his wallet. The purchase had set him back a significant amount of his paycheck, and he wouldn't be doing any partying any time soon. In fact, Kunsel had had to chip in for the dress uniform, waving off Zack's concern, saying it was his gift to celebrate Zack's promotion. Thank Gaia for best friends! He raised his gaze to where Kunsel lounged on the bunk above him, taking full advantage of the off day to enjoy doing absolutely nothing.

Kunsel, sixteen now and two years older than Zack, sported short, light brown hair and SOLDIER blue eyes that he preferred hiding behind a helmet, but which was now cast to the side. Zack had often questioned him about the helmet, and all he ever got was that Kunsel preferred the anonymity of it, for reasons that were his own. He was a year ahead of Zack in the SOLDIER program – he'd been getting his shots just as Zack had begun as a cadet, at thirteen. They'd met about a month later, quickly becoming good friends. It was rather common for Thirds to associate with SOLDIER cadets, and ShinRa encouraged it for the boost in morale and effort it seemed to give both groups. Zack had taken pleasure in competing with Kunsel, though he couldn't hope to match the young Third at the time, and Kunsel had become fond of the excitable, sunny cadet, despite his seemingly short attention span.

It appeared Kunsel had taken it upon himself to watch out for Zack's career as a SOLDIER, for which Zack was grateful, because sometimes … it seemed the younger of the two missed the most obvious of things.

Zack rubbed the back of his neck, ruefully. He didn't mean to, honestly, it just sort of _happened_. But Kunsel wasn't in a place to judge anyone else, himself, since the guy knew practically everything about _everything_ , more than could possibly be _normal_. Zack had no idea where he got his information, just that it was _unnatural_. He'd tried asking his friend about it a few times, but the other always gave him a mysterious little smile and refused to reveal his sources. Zack still wondered about it now and then, but he was getting used to just taking it on faith that Kunsel simply _knew_.

He sighed, falling back onto his bunk. He raised the official promotion letter he'd picked up earlier that day, and read through it, one more time:

  
_DEPARTMENT OF SOLDIER  
Public Safety Maintenance Department, ShinRa Headquarters  
Midgar, Eastern Continent_   


_04 September 1998_

_Cadet Zackary Fair,_

_Congratulations on your outstanding performance in the SOLDIER exams. You are hereby appointed to SOLDIER Third Class, effective immediately. Report for duty NLT 0700, 19980907, ShinRa HQ, Building 1, Floor 49, Training Room 1._

 

                                                                                                                             _SEPHIROTH, 1C, SEC  
_                                                                                                                              _General of SOLDIER_

Still in awe, Zack ran a thumb over the name neatly written over the signature block. It sure looked like it had been signed by hand, rather than electronically printed – the precise lines of the pen indented the paper just slightly. _Signed by Sephiroth himself_ , Zack thought. He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. _I did it. I really did it!_ After an entire year of hard work, study, and grueling training, he was really a SOLDIER.

 _SOLDIER._ Zack rolled the word around in his mind, testing it out. _Zack Fair, SOLDIER Third Class._

Now _that_ was something to write home about.

With a pang, he remembered that he hadn't yet written to his parents since he'd run away. They were probably worried about him, if they didn't downright hate him. They hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms.

He pushed the thought away, not wanting the memory to dampen his mood tonight. He'd write to them tomorrow, he decided, after the banquet. There'd be time enough for that then, before he got caught up in SOLDIER Third training. That's what Kunsel had told him would be waiting for him bright and early on Monday. Though the paper called it "reporting for duty," he knew that Monday would be a lot of in-processing, as they went through his records, medical and otherwise, and got him ready for his Mako shots. He'd be scheduled to take them sometime that afternoon, and real training would begin late in the week, after he'd had some time to recover.

He wondered what the shots involved, and had to admit he was a little apprehensive. Kunsel said they weren't that bad, not compared to the ones given to the Seconds. But what did that even mean? He'd been too afraid to ask, not wanting to chicken out before it was too late. Oh well, he'd find out soon enough, he supposed. He had the banquet to look forward to before then.

Idly, he wondered if any of the Firsts would be there. Would the General? He hadn't yet seen the man but from a distance, and he was both excited and nervous at the thought of meeting him up close. And what of the other Firsts? What of SOLDIER Hewley? He found himself looking forward to meeting the man again. He seemed pretty approachable; maybe he'd get a chance to talk to him and find out what SOLDIER was really like. Well, okay, Kunsel was a SOLDIER too, but he didn't count. Zack wanted to hear it from a _First_.

Thoughts full of questions and future possibilities, Zack finally drifted off to sleep, still dressed in his brand new SOLDIER uniform, the promotion letter resting on his chest.

* * *

The promotion banquet that Sunday evening had Zack fidgeting with almost as much nervousness as the days leading up to the exams. He sat at his table, a spot next to him saved for Kunsel, and wondered what was taking the other Third. Restless and uncomfortable in the stiff dress uniform, he tugged at its high collar.

ShinRa's SOLDIER dress uniforms were white, and did not at all resemble their work uniform. Fitted, sharp looking suits, they consisted of long-sleeved jackets and slacks, with shiny black boots Zack would need to polish to keep in shape. The jackets were buttoned in gold, and the colors for the suit's trim and piping matched the SOLDIER class: blue for Third, purple for Second, and gold, rather than black, for First. Zack supposed someone had just wanted the Firsts to stand out more. A braid of appropriate color circled one arm, and a belt, uniformly black for all the classes, went around the waist. Zack glowered at the thought that he'd have to purchase yet another uniform of the right color when he reached the next class. Or could he have it tailored somehow? He didn't know.

Some of the Firsts, apparently, got to wear their own color uniform. He'd have to ask Kunsel about that. Zack had spotted First Class Genesis Rhapsodos first because of his red trim and matching gloves. And General Sephiroth's uniform had him standing out just as much as his usual leather garb did – it was black, with white trim, and sported a double row of silver buttons down the front. Fringes decorated his shoulders, and he had more braids and decorations than Zack could count. It was impressive, and no less intimidating than his usual appearance. The silver-haired man currently conversed with SOLDIER Rhapsodos, who had nearly as many decorations. The other First looked rather put-upon, Zack thought, while the General remained as emotionless as ever. He wondered if they disliked the event as much as he was beginning to, and felt a little unexpectedly sad at the thought.

The one person he didn't see, though, other than Kunsel, was SOLDIER Hewley. Was he even coming? Zack would be disappointed if he didn't show – he'd been brainstorming what he could say to the man, and didn't want to lose his opportunity.

A figure suddenly obscured his view.

"Hey!" Kunsel said by way of greeting, and continued wryly, "You look like you're enjoying yourself."

Zack grumbled. "The uniform's so stiff, I feel like I've got a noose around my neck."

Kunsel chuckled. "Welcome to the fineries of ShinRa." He sat in the chair beside Zack. Across from them, four other SOLDIER Thirds sat, conversing with each other. Zack had joined in earlier, before he got to looking for Kunsel and SOLDIER Hewley. He didn't know what the conversation had moved onto anymore.

Kunsel grabbed a dinner roll. "So, why aren't you about, mingling?" He smirked. "You look like a newbie scared that anything he does will be wrong."

Zack shot him a scathing glance. "Is that what you were doin'? I wondered why you'd _abandoned_ me."

There was another snicker from his friend, who assumed that that answered his question.

"And _no_ ," Zack continued. "I wasn't scared. Jus' thought I'd find a seat, and 'sides, I was talkin' with _them_." He gestured to their fellows at the table.

Kunsel simply smirked knowingly, and let his gaze roam about the room. "Have you seen SOLDIER Hewley yet? I know you wanted to talk to him."

Zack shook his head. "Nah. Dunno if he's even here."

A nod. There was another moment of silence while Kunsel finished the roll and raised his water glass for a drink, then he said, rather softly, "A little intimidating, isn't it, to see so many Firsts and Seconds all in one place." Even Kunsel was just getting used to working with the Seconds, and the occasional First. Zack, as a cadet, had really only seen them from afar, aside from the odd instructor, most of whom weren't even SOLDIER in the first place because they didn't need to be. The SOLDIERs were still legends to him.

Wordlessly, he nodded. Then he caught himself. "What? No! I told you I'm not scared," he denied, fervently.

Kunsel grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. "Ha! Just messing with ya."

It wasn't much longer before, at some unknown signal, the milling SOLDIERs and brand new, unenhanced Thirds began to move to their seats. However, now it seemed that many of the Firsts, rather than conglomerating at their own exclusive table, chose to find tables among the Thirds and Seconds, cheerfully booting out someone already there if there wasn't an opening, and leaving them to find a new table.

Zack's eyebrows rose. "What's goin' on?"

"Don't you know? Oh, forget I asked." Kunsel waved a hand at the look Zack shot him, then went on to explain. "This happens every year. It's an unwritten rule that the Firsts have to mingle among us lesser creatures, spreading their awesomeness and joy. So each one goes to find a table to chat it up with the Thirds. They seem to enjoy it. The Firsts, I mean." They watched as one First, resplendent in his white and gold, laid a heavy hand upon the shoulder of a newly graduated cadet, who jumped. Reluctantly, the boy got up to find a new table, while his comrades greeted the arrival with no small amount of dismay. It almost seemed as if they thought the smirking First would eat them, or something. Kunsel grinned. "It's tradition."

"… Huh." Zack could imagine their alarm. Still, it was a little exciting, and he wondered who would sit at their table. But then he noticed something that made him frown. "… There aren't all that many Firsts, are there?" Though just about all the Firsts had dispersed throughout the room, there were quite a few tables without one. It looked like their table would be one of the unfortunate, with no one looking to be coming their way. Disappointment settled in.

"You didn't expect there to be, did you? ShinRa has quite a number of them, but it's far less than the number of Thirds, or even the Seconds. Not everyone gets to be a First. Besides, a lot of them are on missions or deployed to Wutai right now. What you see here are just those who happened to be in Midgar for the ceremony, or who made the time for someone they knew in the lower ranks." Kunsel scanned the room. "In fact, I'm surprised that the _Holy Trinity_ are here all at once. That's a rare occasion."

"The Holy-?"

"Generals Sephiroth, Rhapsodos, and Hewley. You mean you didn't even know _that_?" Kunsel scoffed. "Some fanboy _you_ are."

"Kunsel! _I am not a fanboy!_ " Zack hissed back at him.

"The new Sephiroth poster in my room says differently." Kunsel seemed to be smirking a lot tonight.

Zack had to resist the impulse to throttle his friend, and hoped no one else overheard. Then something else Kunsel said finally sunk in. "General Hewley? You mean he's here? _Where?_ " Zack glanced around.

Kunsel inclined his head at the table behind them. "Right there, Mr. Oblivious."

Twisting around, Zack found the SOLDIER already seated and conversing with the Thirds around him. Unlike his fellow generals, Rhapsodos and Sephiroth, who sat at the head table, Angeal Hewley wore the standard First Class dress uniform, apparently having felt no need for something different, although it was just as adorned. Zack's face fell. The man had missed them by a _single table_ , and now it looked like Zack wouldn't get the chance to talk with him at all. The other Thirds, having overcome their initial apprehension, were already chatting animatedly with the First. He chuckled at something one of them said.

 _Great._ Zack turned back around in time for a waiter to set a plate of food in front of him. He glowered at it.

"Cheer up," Kunsel said, "and enjoy the food. It'll be a long time before you get anything as good as this again, I guarantee it. Besides," he swallowed a mouthful of steak, "why don't you just go talk to him after dinner? There'll be plenty of time for that."

Hmm. Zack supposed he could do that, though he was a little anxious at the idea of simply approaching the man out of the blue. "Have _you_ ever talked to 'im?"

"What, one-on-one? No, of course not. I'm much too scared for that."

Zack rolled his eyes. "Thanks a lot."

Kunsel grinned. "Anytime."

The dinner proceeded, Zack and Kunsel joining in conversation with the other Thirds, new and otherwise, around them. After a while, Zack found he was rather enjoying himself, despite the initially formal atmosphere and stuffy clothes. Getting past his early apprehension, he was able to relax and became absorbed in the bantering and bloated tales of heroism by the Thirds with a year already under their belts. Zack felt a pang of jealousy at the others in the room who at least got to talk with a First, but rapidly squashed it. It wasn't like there was anything he could have done about it, anyway, and Kunsel was right – he could just go up to Hewley later. Still, he snuck glances over his shoulder at the man; at one point the SOLDIER looked up and caught his gaze. Discovered, Zack whirled back around and hoped it was just his imagination.

"Oh, hey, Zack!" At one point, Kunsel tugged at his sleeve to get his attention. His voice was pitched low so as not to be heard over the other conversations, but his Mako blue eyes glittered with excitement. "I can't believe I almost forgot to tell you." He attempted to smother a grin. "So, I did some checking earlier today, and guess what I found out? Don't tell anyone I told you this, but … they're considering you for the mentor program!"

 _The mentor program?_ Zack drew a blank. "Um … I think I've heard of it …?"

Kunsel shook his head. "I wouldn't be surprised if you hadn't. For once," he added. "They don't like to advertise it, and it's not something that a cadet can really apply for. They take the most promising students and try to match them up with a mentor – one of the Firsts, or a Second with a lot of experience. It takes a lot of work to make the selections and then pair them up, because it's a commitment that requires _years_ out of the mentor's career, so it's not taken lightly. The mentors work with their students for their entire training, Third through Second, sometimes even First, until the student achieves the same rank."

"… Wow. Really?"

Kunsel nodded. "Not all of the Firsts participate in the program, either … you've gotta have the right temperament for it. But it's one of the best ways there are to make First. And if they're considering you for it, that's a really good sign that they think you've got what it takes."

A grin spread across Zack's face. "That's _awesome_! Thanks, pal!" Impulsively, he flung an arm around Kunsel's shoulders in a quick, one-armed hug. "Wow … I wonder who I'll get paired up with?" He scanned the tables, picking out each of the SOLDIER Firsts. "Who d'ya think it is, Kuns?"

A shake of the head. "I have no idea. It might not even be anyone in this room. But don't get your hopes up," Kunsel cautioned. "I know I _really_ shouldn't have said anything until they decided something for sure, but … I just couldn't wait." He lightly punched his friend's shoulder. "You're gonna make it, Zack, I know it!"

Zack beamed back at him. "But what about you?"

Kunsel waved a hand. "Oh, don't worry about that. I don't mind, really, and it's only the best that get picked for the program."

"But Kuns-"

"I'll make Second for sure, at least. As for First …" He shrugged, unconcerned. "If it happens, it happens. First is so far above Second Class anyway, and so few make it, that there's nothing to be ashamed of, if you don't. I'm _fine_ with Second Class. Besides, there's no one out there I'd rather have surpass me than you. And, truthfully, I don't think there's anyone out there I'd be content with as a mentor." He smirked.

Zack regarded his friend. He was probably right – Kunsel was so independent that he really didn't need a mentor, and would probably be happiest without one. At least then he wouldn't have to explain to anyone how he was able to come by all the information he did. Zack swore that Kunsel must be part Turk.

But still … he wanted to believe that his friend could go just as far as he could. He didn't want to leave him behind.

"Oh, don't give me that face, Zack." Kunsel rolled his eyes in exasperation. "It's a long time until then, anyway! It'll be fine, I promise. Now," he poked at Zack's plate, "are you gonna eat that dessert, or must I do my job as SOLDIER and liberate it?"

Ever one to defend his food to the last, Zack stabbed his pie and finished it off with gusto.

* * *

As the remains of the meal were consumed, there were a few speeches to the newly minted Thirds, both by General Sephiroth and SOLDIER Director Lazard Deusericus. Though the topics were all things Zack had heard before and so commonly turned a deaf ear to, both men actually managed to make them sound like they _meant_ something – service, excellence, integrity, future … Sephiroth especially, though his words were short and to the point, spoke with a certain sincerity and eloquence that really left Zack taking his words to heart.

It was shortly after that, when conversation began to rise again, and people took that as their signal to mingle with everyone they'd been prevented from sitting with during the meal, that Zack finally managed to drum up his courage to approach SOLDIER Hewley. Watching the man, he saw a few Thirds excuse themselves from the table and head off to find other friends. At that point, the First glanced over to share a strange look with General Sephiroth at the head table – Zack wasn't sure what the General conveyed, as his expression looked the same as all his other expressions, but it caused Hewley to offer a rueful smile and give a slight shake of his head. When he returned to his drink, Zack took that as his cue.

"Hey, sir." Zack now stood in front of the First, who glanced up at him, raising his eyebrows at the informal greeting. "Uh, I mean … good evenin'." He rubbed the back of his neck, all his rehearsed phrases suddenly sounding stupid and abandoning him. "Uh, I ah … well, we didn't get t'have a First at our table, so, uh … thought I'd come over an' say Hi." It sounded lame to his ears, though it was the truth, partially. He offered a small grin.

"Hi," the First echoed, somewhat amused. His eyes scanned the boy before him, taking in the wild, black hair, distinctive purple eyes, and nervous fidgeting. It was the unique combination of borderline-regulation spikes and the eyes that did it for him; he leaned back, smiling. "I remember you. You're the new Third that tried to run me over yesterday." He also recalled the boy stealing covert glances at him during the meal, but chose not to mention that. "Is your friend here, too?" A glance at the other table told him that he was, and watching besides; Angeal nodded in acknowledgement. Kunsel did a double take, slowly raised his hand in a cautious wave, then spun back around and pretended to busy himself with the ice in his empty water glass. Angeal smirked.

"Uh, y-yeah …" Zack stammered, wondering if this was a bad idea after all. In a rush, he continued, "Sorry about that, sir – was my fault, I wasn't watchin' where I was goin', an'-"

"Don't worry about it. If a Third could really trample a First, there'd be something else wrong besides just you. Relax." He waved a hand to the empty chair beside him. "Sit down. All my other newest acquaintances fled in terror when they realized I no longer had the power to hold them here." Though it wasn't quite true – they'd gotten along rather well – there was still something intimidating about a First, and no Third wanted to be stuck with one all night.

Zack chuckled, sinking into the chair and relaxing a bit. "I don't blame 'em." Then he froze. "I mean … that is …" Failing to cover up for his mistake, he face-palmed, groaning into his hand. "Gaia, that came out wrong."

Angeal found himself chuckling. "It's nothing I don't already know, believe me." Taking a drink, he eyed the boy over his glass. "Say, where are you from?" he asked. "I don't believe I recognize your accent."

Surprised, Zack glanced up. "Oh, uh … I'm from Gongaga, sir. Not a lot o' people recognize the accent. We don't really get out much." Some of his friends had needled him for his accent, as distinctive as it was, though it had all been in good fun, as far as Zack could tell. A lot of the SOLDIER recruits were from the bigger cities of Midgar, Junon, or even the countryside around Kalm. Though the dialect varied a bit between those areas, it was pretty uniform, for the most part, unless you were stuck in the deep slums. Most of them had never met someone from the middle-of-nowhere towns on the Western Continent, like Zack.

"Gongaga?" Angeal raised his eyebrows, surprised. He knew where it was, had even conducted a few missions in the surrounding area. He'd never made it to the town itself, however. "What brings you all the way out here?"

Taken aback, Zack floundered. "Well, uh … to join _SOLDIER_." He shrugged. It was obvious, wasn't it?

"I realize that, but why? Midgar's a far cry from Gongaga, in more ways than one, and most of them unpleasant." He paused. "Was it the lure of fame? Prestige, the power of becoming a SOLDIER, something you couldn't find in a place like Gongaga?"

"Well … no, not really." Zack's eyes dropped. He knew all about how Midgar was different from Gongaga – he was still struggling to come to terms with it, and he missed his hometown very much. Sometimes the homesickness still got to him. "I know Gongaga hasn't got any of those things, but … that's not why I came." He hesitated, reluctant, at first, to tell the man his dream for fear of being ridiculed. But then he raised his head. It didn't matter what the man believed, after all; they were Zack's dreams, not his, and Zack was still determined to reach them no matter what he thought. "I want to be a hero," he stated, proudly. "I wanna become strong so I can help people, so I can protect them from all the bad things out there. Sometimes … sometimes you just aren't strong enough, sometimes life throws horrible things at you, and there's not a thing you can do about it. But I wanna be there … I wanna make that difference, I want … I want to be that strength for those who haven't got it, when they need it most. And to do that, I've gotta make it all the way to First, so _that's_ why I'm a SOLDIER, and _that's_ what I'm gonna do." Zack nodded firmly, resolute.

Angeal stared at him. He saw something in those eyes then, a depth of determination, belief, and courage that he hadn't seen in anyone for a long time. And he saw something else there, too … a future, a purpose, a … a spark of something that could truly become great. The corner of his lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile.

_I believe you just might do that, kid._

"Well." Angeal took another sip from his glass, to hide the growing smile there. "If you want to fulfill dreams like _that_ … SOLDIER would be the place to do it."

Zack's smile, hesitant at first, grew when he realized that the First had no intention of mocking his dreams, and his eyes lit up. Confidence restored, he eagerly launched into all the other questions he'd penned up, waiting for just such an opportunity.

They talked, long after most of the other SOLDIERs had abandoned the hall for the night.

* * *

  
**End Part I**


	2. Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me a lot of trouble, and for a long while I wasn't satisfied with it. I think I've finally gotten it tweaked to where I like it, so I hope it comes across all right. It was not easy!

There was a loud pounding in his ears, and his breath was ragged. He hurried through the deserted hallway as fast as he dared, head down, praying that no one would see him.

Blood stung his shoulder.

He was terrified.

_"Hey, you've heard about the Graveyard, right?"_

_"Graveyard?"_

_"Train Graveyard. Next to the Sector 7 slums. It's supposed to be haunted. By a demon."_

He barely registered the pain. There was blood on his shirt and jacket, too, a lot of it. He shook.

_"Give me a break, man. Demons don't exist."_

_"I wouldn't be too sure. They say it has a burning red eye and rides a pale horse. I think I've seen it."_

_"You've been there?"_

_"Yeah. Scared me stiff, whatever it was. I'll never forget it. Not sure what it was, but it definitely had that burning eye. Never want to see that again."_

He'd overheard, thought it would be a cool idea to head down and check it out. He had some time that evening and training wasn't until next morning. Not yet having had the chance to celebrate his promotion to Third, he saw it as the perfect opportunity – he'd go out exploring, see the sights, and be back before anyone was the wiser. It was supposed to be fun.

_"Are you serious, Zack? I don't know … I'm not going to be able to go with you, this time. I've got a mission early in the morning, and it's already pretty late. Gonna have to take a rain check on this one, buddy. … Are you sure you want to go yourself? I know you've been to the slums before, but … Well, all right. Just be careful, okay?"_

Kunsel couldn't make it, and his other pals in training had already scattered to the winds or were catching up on sleep. So Zack had decided to go alone. It wasn't like he didn't have experience, after all. Besides, he was a SOLDIER. He could take care of himself.

_The knife glittered, reflecting the flickering lamplight. "Give me your wallet and empty your pockets."_

Blood coated his hands. He could feel it, adhered like some kind of awful, nightmarish glue. He hated it. He kept his hands jammed into his pockets; maybe no one would notice if they couldn't see the red, dull and browning now, caked on pale skin.

_The weapon came at him, carving into his shoulder. The sudden hurt shocked him. This was real._

His breath was shallow and fast. He felt lightheaded. He was probably hyperventilating, he knew, but he couldn't help it. His thoughts focused on one thing:

To get back without being seen.

_The man's much larger hands, rough and gritty, were fastened tightly around his own, wrestling for the knife. A sheen of red already marred the edge, and it hovered, unsteady, between the two of them. The man's heavy bulk pressed him into the coarse pavement; it was hard to breathe. He felt panic rising._

He couldn't remember reaching the building. Somehow he'd made it back from the slums, huddled in a dark corner of one of the midnight trains. Everywhere was dark, foreboding, and empty. He'd run, as fast as he could, until his legs threatened to give out; still they trembled. He hid from people, dark strangers, men in long coats, or scantily-clad women, speaking in harsh, judging voices – they could see, he knew, see what he'd done. They'd _know_. Steam from the vents, tinted green with Mako, cloaked the shadows and shimmered in intermittent, artificial lighting. Even the shady form of the ShinRa tower had loomed in judgment before him.

_Then the knife flashed, and it carved through reality like butter, stained it red, and kept carving, and didn't stop. A shrill sound rang in his ears._

He'd managed to sneak in through one of the service elevators. It was after curfew. He'd get in trouble if he was caught.

_There was a strange gurgling sound, like water running through some old pipes. Zack stopped. He straddled the man beneath him. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He looked down, meeting the man's eyes. There was something in them, for a moment, and then there was nothing. The gurgling sound stopped. The man was dead._

_No, Gaia … I_ didn't _…_

He had to hurry. He hadn't seen anyone yet; maybe he'd be lucky. He was inside now, working his way back through the building. He took several turns, quickly, hardly daring to breathe. It was late; things were deserted. But he didn't recognize this part of the building.

He couldn't be lost. He _couldn't_ be.

His head buzzed. He was numb, except for the fear. It welled up, strangling him. His steps came quicker, his breath, faster. His heart pounded. Soon he was running, careening around the corners. Everything was a blur; he didn't know where he was going. He had to find his way back. He _had_ to, before someone found out …

_He'd found what he was looking for._

_Death rides a pale horse._

All of a sudden, reality crashed into him like a freight train, jarring his surroundings to a startling halt. He bounced back and hit the floor, slapping out his hands to break the fall. His head spun for an instant, before it cleared and he looked up to see what he'd hit.

His blood froze to ice.

No … Gaia, no, anyone but _him_!

* * *

Angeal Hewley's voice was irritated after he recovered enough from the shock of the collision to speak. "I hope you have a good explanation for this, SOLDIER. Running in the hallways, in a restricted area, past curfew, _and_ barreling into your superior officer?" Though he hadn't seen the boy in a week, he recognized the spiky head from the promotion banquet, which only added to his irritation. He wasn't going to turn out to be a troublemaker, was he? "Don't expect me to go easy on you this time."

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" Zack's voice was panicked, and his words came out in a rush. "It was an accident, I didn't mean to, it won't happen again, I promise, please, _please_ don't report me!"

Angeal frowned. But the disapproving expression abruptly melted away, to be replaced by one of concern when he saw the boy's ragged appearance and torn clothing. Nearly the entire side of his face was one large bruise. And was that … _blood_?

" _Shiva_ , kid … What happened?" He stepped forward to help the boy to his feet, only for Zack to scramble up and back away. Angeal could feel the fear radiating off of him, like it was a tangible thing. Abruptly, with a last, frightened glance in his direction, Zack turned tail and bolted the other way.

Angeal overcame his surprise in time to snag the boy by the arm in two quick strides. "Whoa! Hey, hey, hey, what are you doing? You're hurt!"

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean t' do it! Jus' please don't get me in trouble. I'll go right back to my room, I promise, I won't let anybody else see me-"

Angeal shook his head, shifting his grip so it wasn't so rough. "Never mind that. Let's get you to the infirmary."

Zack's eyes widened, and he jerked away. "No!" He shook his head, terrified. "No, I can't go there! Don' send me there, please! I'm fine, I really am, I-I'll be fine, I promise! They can't know …"

"Know what?" When no answer was forthcoming, Angeal took the Third by the arms to look him directly in the eyes. His face, left of his eye, Angeal saw, was a painful-looking blue and black, the skin above the cheekbone split and bleeding. His lip on that side was split, too, and there was another dark bruise blossoming on the side of his jaw. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated with pain and fright, and clouded with something else. Angeal frowned, examining his face, and searched his memory for the boy's name. "… Zack. It's Zack, isn't it?" If possible, Zack's eyes only grew more frightened. "What happened, Zack? Were you attacked?"

Hesitant, he nodded.

"Can you tell me who?"

There was no answer this time. Angeal could feel the boy's trembling beneath his fingers. "Are you in any danger now? Is anyone else?" he pressed.

Zack's eyes went vacant, then, and he stared over Angeal's shoulder. "… No." The word was raspy, barely audible.

Angeal sighed. It sounded like he wasn't going to get much else out of the boy. "All right. Let's go get you fixed up."

At that, Zack snapped out of wherever he'd gone, and began to struggle once more. "No. Please, no! Not medical, I _can't_ -"

"It's _fine_ , Zack, they're not going to hurt you. There's nothing wrong – It's perfectly safe-"

"No. _No!_ I'm _not goin'_!"

Wondering what had gotten the Third so worked up, and how on Gaia he'd come to be in his present state, Angeal's brow creased. Finally, worried and exasperated at his stubbornness, the First relented. "All right. Okay. You don't have to go to medical. Will you come back to my apartment?" At the fear still emanating from the boy, he soothed, "You're not in trouble, Zack. I just want to help you. Will you let me help you?"

There was another long moment. Finally, Zack nodded. "Okay." His voice came out as a dry whisper.

"Good kid."

Angeal escorted him back to his apartment, keeping a firm, but gentle, hand on his shoulder to ensure he wouldn't bolt. They walked in silence, the First glancing down at his younger companion at regular intervals. Zack kept his head down, watching his feet. Finally, Angeal had them navigated back to his rooms. Ushering Zack inside, he closed the door, locked it, and settled the boy onto a chair at the dining room table.

"I'm going to get some things to treat your injuries. Just wait here, all right? If you can, remove your jacket and shirt so I can see what I'm doing."

Wordlessly, Zack nodded. While Angeal busied himself, the boy glanced around the apartment, slowly, as if in a daze, shivering. The living space was covered with plush, tan carpet. The furniture was simple but functional, most of it in warm colors and rich, antique oak. A large bookcase stood against the wall across from the couch and easy chair nearby, with a relatively small television on a stand beside it, and there were pictures – photographs – on many of the surfaces, artfully arranged, with several varieties of potted plants joining them. There were larger photographs hanging on the walls, and, at any other time, Zack would have been curious enough to investigate. But they seemed like a distant thing now, blurs of color outside the reality of his mind. He felt nothing but hollow, other than the fear vibrating beneath everything.

He reached up to tug on the zipper of his jacket. He got it halfway before he glanced down at it … and froze. There was blood on his hands.

 _His fingers were white around the hilt of the knife, stuck to it by the liquid red coating them. He felt a tiny rivulet snake down his wrist, warm and tickling like a feather. It made its way to the middle of his forearm before dripping off. He heard it, a single, dull_ tap _onto the pavement. It was followed by another. And another._

Something touched his hands, and he jumped, badly startled.

"Hey, hey … it's okay. It's just me," Angeal said quietly. Gently, the man took the zipper from his hands and finished undoing the jacket. Zack's eyes slid to the table. There was a large bowl of water there, some rags, and a green materia, somehow already put in place by the older SOLDIER.

Zack glanced back to the jacket. Unexpectedly, a strong revulsion hit him. It was streaked with blood; he needed to be out of it. Grabbing the edges, he all but ripped it off, surprising Angeal.

"Careful, now …" Angeal cautioned, not knowing how badly injured the boy was, and not wanting him to cause further harm to himself.

The shirt had to go too. Arms trembling now, Zack tore it off, over his head, a sting of pain biting into his shoulder where the shirt had stuck to the gash there. He deserved it.

"Zack-" The SOLDIER frowned, now, at what he saw. The Third was uninjured for the most part, other than a ragged cut on the side of his neck, and a nasty-looking laceration across his shoulder, which was once more beginning to well with blood. Neither injury was life-threatening. So where had all the blood come from …?

Zack bit his lip, refusing to meet his eyes. He kept his head down now, trying to keep his face a mask, but Angeal could see occasional flashes of torment flickering through.

The First was silent for a long, long moment. Zack attempted to keep himself steady, but began to tremble despite his efforts. He knew Angeal was judging him. What would he say? What would he do? Zack gripped the sides of the chair tightly; too late, he remembered the blood on his hands. Yanking them back as if burned, they hovered over his lap as he tried to figure out a place to put them. He laced them together – no, not good, he could feel the blood between his fingers. Pulling them apart, he lightly touched fingertip to fingertip – no, that didn't work, either. Finally, they ended up curled into fists upon his knees, and although that was equally awful, that's where they stayed. He stared at them, shoulders hunched, waiting.

A soft touch on his shoulder startled him once more, and he glanced up to see the First kneeling in front of him, dabbing at his skin with a warm, wet rag. The man offered no words, but went straight to work. The expression on his face was one Zack hadn't expected to see – it wasn't the incriminating one he was looking for, and it was that, more than the horrible, burning bite as the rag touched the actual wound, that made him look away. He sniffed, his eyes suddenly stinging; quickly, he wiped at them.

Zack kept himself rigid throughout the ordeal, as Angeal meticulously cleaned the wounds to prevent infection, then healed them with the materia. He moved to Zack's face, and, ever so gently, while the boy kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut, examined the bruises there, and healed them too. He gave the boy a cloth to clean his hands on, and, finally, understanding how he must feel, pointed him down the hall to the shower. He left a clean set of clothes with him, directed him to drop his own dirtied clothing outside the bathroom door so Angeal could wash them, and retired to the kitchen table. The First sat there, waiting, with the bloodied water for company, and put his head in his hands.

* * *

The water was scalding. Zack needed it to be, to wash the taint from his skin, but he didn't even know if that would work. He saw pale crimson flow from his arm and hair and vanish down the drain, and was sickened to know how it had plastered his bangs together, couldn't even remember how it had gotten there.

His movements were numb and automatic. Though he didn't rush, taking far longer than the five-minute showers they'd been allowed in training, the luxury was lost upon him, and he soon found himself finished. He blinked. Unwilling to leave the hidden confines of the shower, he dawdled for a while longer, facing the spray, and let the water scorch his bowed head.

At last, he prompted himself to turn the water off, and stepped out into the steamed room. Toweling off, he found the pair of sweat pants Angeal had lent him, and pulled them on. Even with the waistband cinched to its tightest, they were still a little loose; the legs piled at his ankles. Uncaring, Zack shuffled to the sink, wiped the condensation from the mirror, and began to struggle a comb through his hair.

How odd. It felt almost normal.

Finished, he set the comb to the side. On impulse, he met his eyes in the mirror.

That was a mistake.

All at once, he saw brown eyes, empty; he saw thick, matted hair, the same color, tangled; he saw a hooked nose, a square jaw, pale, yet weathered, skin, marked by a life in the sunless slums and streaked by grime. There was a thin scar beneath one eye, and a nick in one ear. Pale, pink foam bubbled from the lips, and trickled from a corner of the mouth.

He saw the face of the man he'd killed.

More than that, he felt himself bent over the body, felt the last breath die upon his face, felt the hot, sticky wetness of the blood fresh against his hands and arms. He looked down at those hands, and couldn't see it with his eyes, but he knew it was there.

_Death rides a pale horse. And its eye is most definitely red._

Abruptly he had the faucet on, hands trembling and fumbling with the soap. His stomach churned; he could taste bitterness on the back of his tongue but willed it down. He dropped the soap several times before he got a good grip, and began to wash his arms once more. The man's blood had soaked into his pores, he knew – he could _feel_ it. He had to get it out. _Had_ to.

The man was _dead_ , and it was all because of him, and oh, Gaia, what if he missed a spot and someone could see? You could smell it, even, and the stench was thick and cloying, enough to nearly make him gag. And if he could smell it, surely others could too.

He scrubbed harder. _Harder_.

He was oblivious to anything else, focused so single-mindedly on that one task, that one purpose, that he almost didn't notice when strong arms wrapped around him from behind and took the soap from his hands.

" _No._ " His voice was raw and scratchy, and he wanted to yell his protest, but he couldn't because something had squeezed his throat tight. He fought against the other set of hands, but it was useless, because his were wet with soap, and they kept slipping. The other hands guided water, now cool, over skin as raw as his voice, and pulled him away from the sink.

" _No._ " A large towel, white and fluffy, wrapped around him. He tried to struggle against it, return to his task, he really did. But his strength had left him. He crumpled, wrapping his arms around his stomach. It felt like something was welling up inside him. But he didn't want to let it loose; he was afraid of what it would bring. Teeth clenched, he stared, wide eyed, at the whiteness of the towel, and struggled to cling to the numbness. It was beginning to crumble.

Strong hands guided him out of the bathroom and to the living room, rubbing at his shoulders and arms through the towel. They set him down on the couch.

Angeal sat next to him. In a very quiet, patient voice, he asked, "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Zack didn't want to. He knew if he said anything, if they found out what he'd done, they'd hate him. He hated _himself_ for it. It was the _unthinkable_ , and he'd, somehow, taken the steps to do it. Weren't there barriers against that sort of thing? Something deep and primal, that prevented you from doing it, even if you'd thought about it, even if you'd wanted to? But there hadn't been any barriers. He'd somehow transcended them without ever knowing, and it was done. He didn't know if he could ever go back.

He didn't want to say anything. But the kindness in Angeal's voice, and the patient waiting there, cracked another fragment of the numbness, and drew him out, just a little. He made a small sound in response. And after that, it seemed, it felt necessary to continue.

The words flowed out of him; he could almost see them, he thought, from his frozen plane of existence. They told of his excursion beneath the plate, how he learned of the Train Graveyard there and decided to explore. They told of stopping for a quick bite to eat beforehand, the journey down full of nervous excitement, and the final awe of ending up in the dilapidated, abandoned wreck of the old train yard. He described his explorations in detail, a piece of him not wanting to reach the part he dreaded. But his words carried him there, when all else was exhausted; it had been inevitable.

He told how the man had cornered him, on his way back, demanded his money. He'd been disbelieving and troubled, unsure what he was supposed to do – he needed the money to get back. He was more afraid of what would happen if he didn't, if ShinRa had found him out too late, if he didn't show up for training in time, tomorrow.

But somehow the man was serious, serious enough to use the knife to get what he wanted. So Zack had fought back, like he'd been trained to do. But it wasn't easy at all, not like he'd assumed it would be, now that he was a SOLDIER. And the guy hadn't given up when he wrestled the knife away, not like they did in training. And things took a turn for the deadly serious. And someone was going to die.

But he killed the man first.

Zack stared down at his hands, as he talked, or would have, but they were wrapped in the towel. The words trailed off, trickling away, like blood from a knife. He'd planned on continuing, telling about coming back here, but there was no point to it anymore. Now that the words were laid bare, the all-consuming fear of someone finding out had faded to nothing. His charade was over. His heart lurched.

Angeal shifted beside him, causing him to glance up. The abrupt action shattered the barrier to reality he'd placed around himself, and everything flooded in. He saw Angeal's eyes, dark with sorrow, his brow knitted with regret, his lips parted as if to offer words. But no words came.

Horror set in, and Zack was overcome by an ugly, awful feeling, as if his soul was corrupt, black, and decaying. He'd done the unthinkable: he'd killed a man, watched his life ebb away right before his eyes, right between his fingers. And it was something that could never be changed, never be undone. It was just too horrible to be real, but it _was_.

He trembled. His breath hitched in his throat, and his eyes blurred.

He wanted to fling the towel off and run away, to hide somewhere and never show his face to anyone ever again. But, before he could, Angeal had wrapped strong arms around him, and he had his face buried in the man's shirt. Sobs welled up and began to wrack his body. They were ugly and broken, just like he was.

"Shh. Shh, it's all right," Angeal whispered. "It's all right." He rocked the young SOLDIER, gently rubbing his back. His own face was anguished, and his heart broke for the boy. Mentally, he cursed ShinRa, and SOLDIER, for taking these kids, these _children_ , and forcing them into these positions where they would be made to kill. Zack was, what … thirteen, fourteen? It was too soon, far too soon, to be made to face reality in that way. Even if Zack wasn't supposed to face human opponents yet, until a few years into Third Class, it was still ShinRa's fault, for it put him there. And it would be too soon, even then. They were _children_ , damn it.

Couldn't anyone see that?

So he rocked the heartbroken, young child in his arms, held him tight, the way his parents should have been there to do. There were no words of comfort he could offer, for nothing would change the reality of what was. It would have to settle on its own.

The night passed.

* * *

The smell of something delicious and enticing invaded his senses, coaxing him back to awareness. He let it lift him from the depths of sleep, and became aware of a luxurious warmth, all around him. Sighing in bliss, he burrowed into it and stayed there for a few, glorious minutes. Then he opened his eyes.

Beyond the blankets encroaching upon his vision, he saw a bookcase filled with novels and photographs, lit by warm sunlight streaming in through windows, somewhere behind him. He didn't recognize it. But the fact that it was daylight was nagging at him, for some reason.

_Shiva! Training!_

Zack leapt to his feet, blankets sliding to the floor. He took a step in preparation to madly dash for his uniform and throw it on, only to be caught up in the fabric and stumble.

"Finally awake, I see."

The deep, warm voice of Angeal Hewley brought him up short. He jerked, whipping his head around to find the man busying himself in the kitchen. He stared.

_SOLDIER Hewley? What …?_

The past night's events hit him hard, then, and he reeled. There was a sharp intake of breath.

He had _killed_ …

Gaia. He had killed someone last night, and it was still real. He'd been hoping that … Slowly, he sank back to the couch. His momentary panic faded in light of the new misery that settled in.

Pans clinked in the kitchen.

There was no way he could take it back, was there? He'd have to go forward, from this point on, knowing what he'd done. He stared at the hands in his lap.

It was amazing – _shocking_ – how such a short period of time could change everything. Things had been fine just yesterday morning.

"So, how do you like your …" Angeal trailed off upon seeing the boy slumped on the couch. The First's cheerful attitude slowly evaporated. He hadn't really thought it would work, anyway. Turning down the stove, he set the pan to the side, wiped his hands on a towel, and came into the living room.

Pausing a moment, he grabbed something off a chair and tossed it lightly at Zack.

"You can put that on, if you like."

It was one of Angeal's shirts. Zack numbly shrugged into it and sank back onto the couch. Angeal sat beside him.

"… So …" Zack ventured at last, glumly, quietly. "… What happens now?"

"… Breakfast, I was hoping." Angeal offered a small smile, trying to lighten the mood once more. It didn't work; his smile faded. He cleared his throat. "Well, that depends on you, Zack. What do you want to do?"

Uncertain, Zack glanced up. "W-what d'you mean? I'm in trouble, aren't I? Isn't … isn't SOLDIER gonna kick me out?"

Surprised, Angeal raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

" _For murdering someone!_ " Zack abruptly yelled, fists clenching. Taken aback at his own actions, he shrank in on himself. "'M sorry." He sniffed, wiped his eyes.

"Zack … you didn't 'murder' anyone." Angeal said, gently. "You defended your life against someone who was trying to take it. You aren't going to get in trouble for that – that's what we expect all SOLDIERs to do. Or anyone else, for that matter." When there was no reaction from the boy, Angeal continued. "You did exactly what you had to, Zack."

"Then why doesn't it _feel_ that way?" His voice was thick. "I lost control, I don' even … Shouldn't I've stopped before I k- _killed_ 'im? Shouldn't I have just disabled 'im, or somethin', so he'd still be _alive_?"

Angeal hesitated.

"That's what they teach us in training, isn't it?" Zack demanded. "The … the … 'appropriate use o' force'? We have to – we've got a responsibility to, as SOLDIER …"

The First sighed. "Yes, you're right. But there are two things to that, Zack. One, you've been neither fully trained, nor tested in that regard, and SOLDIER understands your inexperience. Two, you were confronted with deadly force, so you were authorized to use like force to subdue the man and keep yourself safe. If that meant his death, so be it. It is only through extensive training and control that you can meet that type of scenario and keep your target alive." Angeal leaned down to look him in the eyes. "Do you understand me, Zack? SOLDIER … _I_ … understand your position, and what you had to do. The important thing is that you came back alive. _That_ is what matters."

Zack stared at him, then glanced away. "Then why do I feel like that's not good enough?" He bit his lip. "Shouldn't I've just … I dunno … just given 'im my money? Then he wouldn't've attacked, and wouldn't be dead right now!"

Angeal closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair. This boy was asking all the hard questions. "Yes," he finally supplied. "You should have." When that brought Zack's startled gaze back to him, only for it to degrade into further misery, Angeal continued, firmly, "But never, _ever_ confuse that with being responsible for the man's actions, Zack. Yes, had you given up what he wanted, it might have gone differently. There is something to be said, a _great deal_ in fact, for having the foresight to act to prevent dangerous situations, to keep yourself out of them entirely. If you can give up something small on the chance that you will walk away from a situation uninjured and alive, and without conflict, that is always worth more than you will ever know." Angeal paused. "But … that said … you are never responsible for someone else's actions. It may be that the man would have tried to gut you anyway; he sounded ruthless enough to do just that. In the end, he chose his own fate with open eyes, and you did just what you needed to in order to survive. … Besides … cruel, though it may sound, and it doesn't justify what happened … you may have saved future lives by ending his." He didn't want to make it sound like it was a good thing the man was dead, or that it was justifiable to go forth killing petty criminals … but it was far better that Zack was alive, and he needed the boy to see that.

Zack was silent, as he took it all in. "… So … you're sayin' that the guy deserved to die?" he finally asked.

Angeal frowned. Had the man deserved it? Was that how Angeal felt about it? It was certainly understandable that someone could feel that way, but … He sighed. He had simply seen, and dealt, too much death in his lifetime. There was no longer anything gratifying about it, if there had ever been. His only desires had been to protect others or to stop atrocities from going further than they already had. Perhaps there had been satisfaction in doing the deed, perhaps he'd felt, beforehand, that certain people had deserved to die for what they'd done … but when it had come down to it, when things were over … he'd never held onto those feelings. There was only grim resolution.

"It's not about whether anyone _deserved_ to die, or not, Zack," Angeal finally replied. "It is not our job to weigh that scale, or to balance it. But it _is_ a matter of what was necessary _in the moment_ to do. And you did what was necessary. Anything else is nothing but an attempt to justify how you feel, or want to feel about it."

Zack's expression was troubled. He wasn't quite sure how he should take all that, or whether it really helped him at all. Absently, he noticed a pair of slippers stuck beneath the couch, and toed them out. Was what he'd done _right_? Was it _wrong_? How was he _supposed_ to feel?

"… But … I …" He bit his lip, trying to figure out what exactly it was he wanted to express. "But what d'you expect from me, then? What am I s'posed to do?" he finally asked, plaintive eyes imploring Angeal for the answers.

"… I expect you to live," Angeal said, simply. "I do not blame you for what you had to do, Zack, nor will anybody else. There is nothing you've done that needs forgiveness … try to understand it, and forgive yourself. If it helps …" Angeal paused. He wished he could dismiss the case entirely, say that Zack was absolutely right, and there was nothing wrong at all in his actions. But he knew too much about such things, and felt it would do Zack a dishonor to treat him that way, as if everything were fine. "If it helps, the man you killed was in the wrong, wholly and completely." He laid a hand on Zack's shoulder. "When you understand that, you will find the perspective you need."

Zack remained silent for a while, neck bowed and shoulders slumped, trying to process the words, to come to grips with everything. Finally, he shook his head. "This wasn't what I thought SOLDIER would be like," he said, quietly. "This wasn't what I thought it'd be like _at all_."

Angeal examined the boy with the broken dreams. Then the corner of his mouth crooked upward in the small offering of a melancholy smile, though Zack couldn't see it. "What was it you said you wanted to be, again? Hmm …"

"… A hero." It was whispered.

"Ah, yes. Do you still want that, Zack?"

"… Yeah. I guess." A slow nod. "Yes."

"Then stand up, Zack. Being a hero isn't something that comes easy. To be a hero, you need to have dreams. Are you going to fight for them?" He stood, stepped around in front of the Third, and held out a hand.

Zack's eyes rose, to settle upon the hand. _Fight for my … dreams?_ Was that what he was supposed to do? Was that what he wanted? Was this the kind of _life_ he wanted? To be a SOLDIER, even if it meant he'd have to … to kill?

_Maybe SOLDIER is about more than killing. Maybe it is about having dreams._

_I wanna make a difference. I want to be a hero._

He took the hand. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

Angeal pulled him up. "Good. Remember those dreams, Zack. They will carry you."

Zack took a deep breath; it shook, but he nodded. "Right."

Angeal smiled then. He gestured toward the kitchen. "Would you like something to eat?" At Zack's doubtful expression, he continued. "I've been told I'm quite the cook … I haven't yet had anyone turn me down, so don't you be the first. Bacon, eggs, and dumbapple pancakes," he finished, hoping to appeal to the boy's appetite.

Despite himself, Zack chuckled. "Sure, I guess." He didn't really feel like it, but it couldn't hurt.

 _Attaboy_ , Angeal thought. He would have been worried if the young Third hadn't been in the mood to eat anything; it was a good sign that he would be okay. He clapped the boy on the shoulder, about to step back toward the kitchen, when Zack's almost comical appearance brought him up short. The too-large shirt dwarfed the smaller SOLDIER, practically sliding off a shoulder, pant legs piling around his feet, and … Angeal's mouth twitched in amusement.

"You look ridiculous in those."

Zack blinked. Then he looked down at himself, taking in the baggy clothes, and, finally, the slippers, which he must have inadvertently slipped onto his feet at some point. Somewhat squashed from being stuffed beneath the couch, they were black and white, with large, smiling puppy heads sporting floppy ears and cheerful blue eyes. He gave a small bark of laughter. "Well, you're ridiculous for having 'em," he retorted.

Angeal chuckled, waving for him to sit at the table. And Zack did, shuffling over in the slippers, stomach finally waking up and giving an anticipatory rumble at the thought of food.

* * *

Kunsel hurried through the halls, mind racing. It was after three in the afternoon, and Zack still hadn't come back from his excursion last night.

The older Third had returned from his mission by late morning. He hadn't seen Zack when he'd woken up earlier that day, which had him a little concerned. But he'd had the mission to get to, so he'd headed out to take care of that as quickly as he could; when his friend was still gone from the room upon his return, he actually hadn't thought much of it, assuming he'd have headed off to training by then.

It was only later that he'd learned Zack hadn't shown up for training at all that morning, that no one had seen him for his all-important lunch.

That was when he knew something was wrong.

Viciously, he berated himself. He _knew_ he should have gone with Zack to the slums, or tried harder to convince the young Third to put it off! But Zack had been so earnest and excited about it, and he hadn't seen any openings for it in the near future, so Kunsel hadn't had the heart to push the issue. Zack had worked hard; he deserved the time to head out and relax.

 _Kunsel, you stupid, stupid_ idiot _. You_ knew _Zack still didn't know all the ins and out of Midgar, let alone the slums. You_ knew _it could be confusing at night. You_ knew _it could be dangerous. You_ knew _Zack was too innocent and naïve and_ oblivious _for his own good. What if he's lost? What if he's scared somewhere, or hurt, or_ worse _?_

Gaia, how he wished he'd had the foresight to get his friend a PHS. At least then, he'd always have a way to contact him and make sure he was all right.

He'd spent the last hour and a half running around ShinRa to see if anyone had seen Zack. Maybe he was just goofing off, and there really wasn't anything to be worried about.

But no one had seen him, not since before yesterday evening. He'd even tracked down the security guards on duty for the night – they'd seen him go out, but not return.

Practically beside himself, Kunsel hurried back to his room. Maybe, just _maybe_ , Zack had returned while he'd been out looking. Maybe he'd just stayed out too late, forgot the time, spent the night somewhere … Yeah, yeah, he could see Zack doing that. Maybe.

Except Kunsel _knew_ Zack wasn't one to miss training, either, not for anything.

But he was desperate.

It took him three tries to key the door open, before the electronic lock finally took. He let it swing open. The room was dark. He didn't expect anyone to be there.

But there was. As Kunsel's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw the familiar, spiky head of his friend sitting on the lower bunk.

" _Zack!_ " Relief and fury mixed in his voice, and it was all Kunsel could do not to full out bellow at him. "Where on _Gaia_ have you been? What did you think you were _doing_ , staying out that late, _skipping training_? _What is the matter with you?_ Do you have any _idea_ – I've been looking _all over_ -" His words trailed off at Zack's very uncharacteristic, subdued posture.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"… Zack, what …?"

When Zack looked up at him with those misery-filled eyes, Kunsel's heart broke. _Oh, no._

Instantly, he was striding into the room, abandoning his sword in a corner, and pulling Zack into a hug. Sadness welled up within his chest. Somehow, from Zack's expression, from the things he left unsaid, and the hitch in his breath, Kunsel _knew_.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Zack had tried. And Angeal had helped. But it would take a while yet, before he could accept what he'd done.

* * *

  
**End**


End file.
